At Least Okay
by GoddessofSnark
Summary: How long had he known her? Far too long. And he's loved her since. But she keeps slipping right out of his grasp.


A/N Muchos thanks to Garretelliot as always for being the one to bounce ideas off of. This started as a song fic and has thus since hand the lyrics removed, but the song is by this great little band called the Cryptkeeper Five (If you've ever heard of them, you ROCK, because they do too, and any other fans of theirs are awesome) and the song is called Untitled, and it's really really good and I think you can download it off the website...The site is revamping it's lyrics page but you can look at my fic "Just For a Moment" (Harry Potter) and I used the same song, or just listen to the song...

How long had he known her? Too long, he knew that much. A decade. How long had he loved her? Just about the same amount of time. She had been the one who had consoled him as one relationship after another had failed. But he had loved her long before that, he had loved her from the minute he'd met her, she was special and he had known that from the first.

She had seen him at his worst, when he was the furthest from alright he could possibly be. She knew him, knew how he'd put on a happy face and drink himself into a stupor at night after getting through the day. But yet, she was always a bright spot, she was something that even through the worst of it could truly make him smile.

But when she had left the first time, it felt like the world had been pulled out from underneath him. His world had been shattered. He'd had her for a fleeting moment and then, suddenly, she was gone and it left him standing in the ruins, wondering what the hell had gone wrong, what he had done to deserve that on top of everything else.

She had come back at least; that was a good thing, a godsend, she was what he needed the most. And he tried his hardest to form a relationship with her without pushing the border to far and pushing her away. He wanted something with her, but he didn't want to be too forward about it.

And he thought he had that chance. He almost did. But then that stupid baby-faced young detective had waltzed in and stolen her heart. He almost had the chance, he was just about to finally confess his feelings for her. But he had lost that opportunity, he was just about to finally either have her or loose her forever and the chance had slipped away. He'd lost her forever.

He had almost had the chance at happiness. He had gone though so many heartaches, he had gone through so many failed relationships, an equal amount of them his fault as they were the fault of whomever he was dating. He had gone through a failed marriage, and more failed relationships than he could count, but always, his mind wound up back on her.

She was the one steady thing, the one constant, the one person who was always there for him, had always been there for him; they had something special. Throughout of the failed relationships they'd both had, they'd been each other's support systems. Whenever one of them had made a mistake, the other one was there to help them through it, he had seen her out of more tight scrapes than he could count and he knew that given the chance that she would do anything for him.

Just like he would do anything for her. She could do anything to him, and he couldn't stop loving her. She could ruin him, and he would still love her. There was nothing that she could do that would taint what he felt for her. He could, for a moment, have everything, and she could pull it all out from underneath him and he wouldn't care.

But now he had lost her. So he acted like everything was alright, put on a facade, hid behind his sarcasm, his cynicism, all the while longing for her. He acted as if she was the furthest thing from his mind, as if all they had was friendship, that their special bond was simply one of friendship and not of unrequited love.

He went on acting as if all was alright, kept on being who he was, kept on acting like the sure, proud man they all expected him to be, all the while hiding what he felt. If she was happy, that was what mattered. She was back in Boston, he had her at least as a friend. He had lost her once and it had broken him, but he had her now, if not the way he wanted her. He had her here, with him, even if she was with someone else, at least he had part of her.

Even if they never did cross that line, like they had done so many times in his head, even if they finally did move on, or if he put his pride and the risk of his ego being horribly hurt out of his head and finally confessed his feelings, she was his. Stay where they were, or finally get what he had fantasized about; no matter what happened, she was still his best friend. He could be content with that.


End file.
